


lost somewhere in outer space

by quackingfish



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quackingfish/pseuds/quackingfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You aren’t actually alone in the universe like you thought- you have Callie, and Dirk and Jane and Rose and Callie. Sweet, perfect Callie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost somewhere in outer space

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Coming Down- Halsey  
> cw: dealing with ptsd & recovering from trauma stuff, esp roxy's loneliness/lack of previous human contact stuff

You are like, so fucking glad you have Callie. You’d thought for so long that the only person who would ever really _get_ you would be Dirk, and then you ended up with an awesome space alien girlfriend. Holy fuck.

She’s not warm in the way that the others are, but when you press up against her she’s solid and you can feel her breathing.

It still throws you when you feel someone else breathing.

You aren’t actually alone in the universe like you thought- you have Callie, and Dirk and Jane and Rose and Callie. Sweet, perfect Callie.

Right now she’s all curled up against you, her cute lil beanie scratching at your chest as she draws. Apparently you’re super comfy to lean on, and cause she’s bony as fuck and tiny too, she can lie across your chest and not fuck with your breathing like, at all. She’s drawing now, though, so she’s propped up against your side, curled around a sketchbook.

Plus it anchors you, having her breathing, her heartbeat, her _existence_ all pressed up on you so you can’t ignore it. Hell, you’re just sprawled out in a patch of sun with her leaning on you, and you are the luckiest damn girl on this weird ass planet.

Callie shifts her position a little and hands you her sketchbook, smiling shyly. “Here, I think this one’s done, nearly.”

It’s fucking beautiful, of course, and you aren’t just saying that cause the focus of her drawing is you. You look all soft and warm and she’s gotten your freckles just right, which is much easier now Callie and Kanaya worked to get her some pencils that actually came in the shades of your skin. You’re also holding her hand. Callie’s hand isn’t coloured in gray or green yet, but it’s tangled in yours, and your heart twists.

“I love it,” You grin, wrapping your hand around hers.

You really, really do. The little cottage you’d both claimed is covered in her art, all the walls and ceilings, and the floors would be too, if Callie had had her way. You just really don’t want her drawings getting ruined when the two of you inevitably end up making a mess everywhere.

It’s just- it’s fucking incredible that one of the few people you had to talk to when you were growing up is actually real and she’s here and she’s your girlfriend and she’s _real_ , y’know?

 

The physical contact can be hard sometimes. Like sure, Callie keeps you grounded and reminds you that you aren’t the only person ever, but people do so many things, and it’s just fuckin overwhelming sometimes.

She gets it, and you really fucking love her.

But like, since all of paradox space apparently hates you, you need some space to be not touching people right at a time when she could do with hugs.

Your skin is crawling and the walls feel too close and you’re definitely imagining the laughter but fuck if it isn’t convincing.

“Fuck, what do we do.” You put your head in your hands and rub your eyes. It feels like your fucking skin is shrinking.

“Would having a bunch of blankets between us help you? I think that’d work for me,” Callie is fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

You peek up at her. Your mind keeps flickering back to everybody dying around you, but you breathe deeply and nod. “We can try, at least.”

So you gather up a bundle of blankets and curl up in bed with one of Rose’s books, and you can just about feel her weight through the pile, but you’re also facing a wall of drawings of the two of you and your friends, and Callie’s making happy chirping noises.

You can still feel the ache in your muscles, the bruises, the burning in your lungs from so so many battles, but it’s gonna fade. And when it does, you can lean over and hug your girlfriend, but for now you’re just gonna sit.

One thing you _are_ good at is sitting alone and waiting for that to change. And sure, you’re not alone now, but sixteen fucking years of it was plenty of fucking time to give you practice. You’ll probably let yourself drift into one of those stories you were working on, way back then. This may be the happiest time of your life, but there’s nothing to stop you from daydreaming about the past.

Your skin gradually feels like it fits you again, and your ears stop ringing and the world stops being too bright, so you drift into sleep with Callie curled up next to you. Shit’s pretty great.


End file.
